We take a brief break from the miracle of Marie. . .

. . . to bring you the picture above which was taken in the last 24 hours in Cite Soleil, a large slum in Haiti's capital city, Port-au-Prince. When I see pictures like this, I ask myself, "Why? Why do we live in a world that allows--forces?--people--children--to live like this? Why haven't the people of the world who have enough--more than enough, so much enough that it's killing us--banded together, risen up, and changed the world?"

I know the causes are many and complicated. I know it's been like this forever. I know there are obstacles to helping. But I still can't seem to get my mind around the reality that we live in a world where so many people live in places like the above, or slightly better while others of us wallow in affluence.

It's hurting all of us.

Easter Sunday Miracle

So John made the long trip from Peoria to Port-au-Prince, did what he could medically for Marie's congestive heart failure, and prayed and waited to hear from a hospital.

Against all odds, he didn't have to wait very long. On March 31, Easter Sunday, Marie was accepted by Edward Heart Hospital in Naperville, Illinois. Dr. Bryan Foy,  an excellent heart surgeon, who has operated on other Haitian Hearts patients, would be the surgeon. This may be the quickest a Haitian Hearts patient has ever been accepted by a hospital. And a good thing, too, as Marie was very sick. Walking was problematic. All Marie's energy was going to staying alive.

Now, onto the visa application process and other administrative details. . .

A Faraway House Call

"I'm so sick. I can't lie down to sleep. I'm dying." Those were the words Marie Claude Toussaint spoke to John from her home in Port-au-Prince. John listened from 1,800 miles away. He talked with Marie; he emailed her cardiologist; he agonized over her meds. But in the end, her congestive heart failure proved too difficult to manage via phone.

So on March 29, John traveled to Haiti to see Marie. As my dad said, "It's the longest house call I've ever heard of. " When John arrived, he found Marie as sick as she had described, swollen with fluid, unable to sleep. He put her up in the guesthouse in Haiti where he was staying. He managed her diuretics without labs. She got a little bit more comfortable and was able to eat. But it was just a temporary reprieve. As John said, "She needs the knife." 

Specifically, she needed new heart valves. Marie had had heart valve repair surgery in the United States in 2001. But these repairs last only so long. Prior to his trip, John said the hard part wasn't going to Haiti to try to help Marie. The hard part would be leaving Haiti, leaving Marie. So John put out the word that he had a patient who needed surgery now in the dim hopes that he would be able to leave Haiti with Marie.

And then he waited.

Everyday Life

We are all of us, me included, caught up in our own lives. Most days are filled to the brim with jobs, chores, meetings, errands, chaffeuring kids, social commitments. So much of it seems essential. And then there's the non-essential stuff that takes up a lot of time--surfing the Internet, television, excessive social media, shopping, etc.

Normal, modern day, American life.

So what do you do when in the midst of this normal craziness, a voice drops in on your life and says, "Help me. I'm dying."

It's a voice from a poor country, filled with poor people in a world that is more poor than not. So many people are in this caller's shoes. Kind of makes it easy to ignore her voice.

Except in this case, you know the person. You've helped this person in the past.

Do you send her money? Tell her you'll pray for her? Try to help her from afar? Tell her that you're too busy. Ignore her?

Do you tell yourself you've helped before. There's only so much one person can do. You're so busy doing a lot of good stuff up here.

What do you do?

Stay tuned.

Haitians and Irish

A couple of weeks ago, my mom, cousins, son, and I went to an exhibit, the Greening of the Prairie: Irish Immigration  and Settlement in McLean Country. The exhibit is in the McLean Country Museum of History in downtown Bloomington. Some of my relatives--the Killians and the Larkins--were featured in the exhibit--my great aunt Julia Larkin talking about the nuns teaching them Latin at their boarding school and my great grandparents P.J. and Nellie Killian and their six strapping sons.

But why I want to mention this Irish exhibit on my Haiti blog and on St. Patrick's Day, no less, is because it reminded me how much the Irish are like the Haitians. To wit:

Haiti and Ireland are both island nations.

The Irish language, sometimes called Gaelic, and Haitian Creole were both spoken languages before they were written languages. Both languages are tinged with poetry.

The Irish are supersitious; so are the Haitians.

They are both big lovers of music, parties, and hooch.

Both countries were terribly oppressed by a colonial power.

Both the Haitians and the Irish fled the terrible hunger of their countries on boat. Many of these boats turned into coffin ships.

Ireland and Haiti are Catholic countries filled with people who are devout in their belief in God. Sometimes it's been all they had.

Of course, Haiti is much closer to the pain of her history (i.e. it isn't history) than is Ireland.

I'll close with a great quote from the movie "The Commitments." Just substitute Haitians for blacks.

"Do you not get it, lads? The Irish are the blacks of Europe. And Dubliners are the blacks of Ireland. And the Northside Dubliners are the blacks of Dublin. So say it once, say it loud: 'I'm black and I'm proud.'"

Can You Imagine?

Can you imagine what it would be like to have a hole in the side of your face? To have this painful disfigurement on the part of the body that people most commonly associate with you? To have pain every time you move your jaw to talk or to eat? To only be able to open your mouth so far? To have to deal often with infections that can be life-threatening? To have this go on for years? Can you imagine?

And what about this: can you imagine a group of people--your brother, a couple of U.S. doctors, an American friend, a Haitian in the United States--who really care about you? Who examine you in Haiti? Who send your records to the States? Who advocate for a hospital for you? Who pay your visa fees and help you with your paperwork? Who offer to host you in their home?

Can you imagine going to the U.S. embassy for a visa appointment, knowing that getting help depends on the outcome of the appointment? Can you imagine waiting?

And then can you imagine going to bed at the end of the day that you were granted the visa? Can you imagine despair changing to hope changing to joy?

Mimose can. We will welcome her to the United States on March 19, 2013.

Missing Elie

John has written another moving post , this time about the life of a poor Haitian family who were trying to keep alive their two-year-old son, Elie, who had a major heart defect. Tough to do when you live in a tent. John expended a lot of time and effort to try and line up a hospital and surgeon for this child. He also examined Elie on his trips to Haiti, provided medications, and kept in contact with Elie's mom. But, unfortunately--an understatement--Elie died.

When you get to know a child who lives in Haiti, the child ceases to become an abstraction. What do I mean by this? In the United States and the developed world, we get a fair amount of news coverage of the millions who have malaria, or the tens of thousands who are homeless from an earthquake, or the hundreds of thousands who are living in refuge camps or under tents. Those numbers are overwhelming; it's difficult to get your mind around all that suffering. What the mind can't comprehend, it often ignores. These inumerable people--it's almost like they are not real to us, only unfathomable numbers. But one child like Elie who needs heart surgery, one child who needs regular meals and schooling--one person, this is a situation that speaks to our hearts.

And when you know a person, like Elie, it becomes much less easy to rationalize their not getting the heart surgery they need. John makes the point in his post: we here in the United States would move heaven and earth to get treatment for our child. More to the point, we wouldn't have to; it's an expectation. It should be an expectation for ALL CHILDEN EVERYWHERE. It's not about lack of resources; it's about lack of will.

This isn't to say that we don't need big, systemic solutions to the problems that plague Haiti and elsewhere--clean water, schools, decent roads, innoculation programs. We do. But while we're working on these big solutions, we can't ignore children like Elie.

Pictured above Elie's father and neighbors outside his home.

Real Problems

There is this awful social media meme called First World problems, where people write in with the little things that bug them about being the world's most privileged individuals. It's really disingenuous: people like to complain, but they know it's selfish and small minded to complain about such trivial things. So this cute movement has been launched where people are laughing about their complaints--"Yes, we are wise to our self absorption," as if this somehow mitigates the complaints. But in the end, they are still complaining, and their complaints--and maybe their lives--revolve around petty concerns.

Ouch. I guess the above is kind of harsh, but I'm writing it after having read a post that John just wrote, The Praying Man. John was working at a clinic that included dental services. A man who was in terrible pain and waiting to have a tooth extracted was in line, praying to be seen. As Haitian luck would have it, the person before this man was the last patient of the day. However, the staff promised this man that he would be first in line tomorrow, which was the last day of the clinic.

In a stroke of more Haitian luck, this last day of clinic was cancelled; due to the armed presence of unhappy, young men in the area, the staff didn't feel safe and decided there would be no clinic.

Have you ever been in really bad pain? If you are fortunate enough to be a First World resident, you have most times been able to get your pain alleviated. I keep thinking of this poor man in Haiti, with his excrutiating tooth pain. Too bad there's not a social media movement for his Third World problems.

Cite Soleil, Three Years After the Quake

A Tale of Two Sarahs and Haiti's Future

Long time since I've posted to my blog. It hasn't been for lack of news from Haiti. Between the endemic presence of cholera, the hurricane that wiped out so many of the country's crops, and John's seven trips to Haiti in 2012, lots has happened. Our patient Luckner had successful heart surgery in Naperville in September 2012. Our smaller patient, Sarah, in Cite Soleil ended the year better than she started it. John was pretty sure she was going to die from starvation when he first saw her, looking like she does in the top picture. But a few months later, she had put on weight and was much healthier, as you can see in the bottom pic. Her challenges aren't over, but now she has a chance.

January 1st is a big day in Haiti. Besides being the start of the new year, it's also the anniversary of the country's independence. Haiti is 209 years old today. They've been rough years. Is it delusional to feel any sense of optimism for Haiti? Maybe not, if we remember Sarah.

The Secret of Everything

Since John has returned from Haiti, he has been repeating a statement that I think is the secret to life, to happiness, to many problems, to . . . everything. It may seem too obvious or too simple or too incredible. But try it; you'll like it. Here it is:

"The only people who are happy are those who are helping others."

The Cite Soleil Photographer

I know I'm biased, but my husband John is the best doctor I know. He has dedicated his head and his heart to learning medicine; to be a great doctor, it takes both kinds of knowledge.

But if he ever wanted a second career, he could be a professional photographer. I won't waste your time with words. Just look at the pictures that follow.

Good Communication

John has been working in Cite Soleil at the clinic run by the Daughters of Charity. He has also been inteviewing people on their experiences with cholera and reporting on what he finds at his blog with the Peoria Journal Star. He received an interesting comment about this post from someone called Hait8T. Here, in part is what they said:

"You should stop acting like there just misery in Haiti. . . the Canal has been abandoned for years. . . quit making things appear worst than they seem. . . there more gang violence in the US a million times more than in Haiti. . . The Haitian government plans to bulldoze it (Cite Soleil) completely, they haven't done it yet because of the housing situation which still remain complex in Haiti. . . you are getting your information from 2 females who are not educated who are illiterate and cut off from Haitian society and remain in one place."

The comment goes on. You can read it in full at the above link.

I thought John made a really good response to this comment.

"You are an anonymous, well-to-do Haitian. Sign your name and don't be afraid. I will meet you in Soleil. I can show you the pediatric clinic and Saint Catherine's Hospital and we can drink coffee and talk. And you can be part of the solution. Thanks, John."

The point is that no matter our perspectives, it will take everyone in Haiti working together--the government, the rich people, the NGOs, the poor people, the churches, the middle class--to build a better Haiti. We have to listen to each other, too.

Someone else thought John's comment was good also. Hait8T left a follow up comment:

"I am in tourism and by 2017 to help Haiti progress in its tourism in the town of AQUIN where we own land which will be developed. . . It's not about being judgmental about your work because you could have chosen not to get involved period but you did and I'm sure its appreciated by a lot of people in Cite Soleil where I personally would not go, not because I do not care about Haiti, but my family's plan is different. . . I thank you John either way, I am glad that you replied, and you have replied well, all I am saying is that although you are speaking the truth, but Haiti can be presented differently."

Remember and Honor By Serving Redux

John has been in Pestel, Haiti the last several days. In my last post, I used the word remote to describe Pestel and its environs. Even though Haiti is only 600 miles from the United States, the whole country can see isolated, given its disastrous infrastructure, its scarce government, its disjointed relief efforts; when you are bumping along a road in Cite Soleil, a slum in the teeming capital, you can feel like you're on another planet. But Pestel takes the remoteness to a new level. Surrounded by the ocean and mountains, the town/area on the northern coast of Haiti's southern peninsula is difficult to get to, and then, once you're there, difficult to get aound. In traveling between Pestel and the surrounding mountains, John said he rode on the worst road he has ever been on in Haiti. That is saying something, as many of the roads there eat tires and axels for snacks, and John has had a lot of opportunities to ride on these roads in his 30 years working in Haiti. People in Haiti who are trying to make contact with John are calling me, at home in the States, figuring I might have a better chance at getting ahold of him.

John gives an excellent account of his trip on his blog at the Peoria Journal Star.

Most of the cholera patients at the small, dirty, and understaffed hospital in Pestel are coming from these mountainous regions, where patients have to walk or are carried in by their families. This journey can take several, arduous hours.

One of the men who was laying with calm resignation on a cot in the hospital said to John, "I'm waiting on God." I'm continually amazed at how poor Haitians, those who we would say have gotten the short end of the earthly stick, at least from a material perspective, those who might have less reason to believe in God, believe with such peaceful strength.

If we could give a good answer to "life's most urgent and persistent question" posed by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., we could help validate this faith.

"What are you doing for others?"

Pictured above, the crowded port at Pestel.

Remember and Honor by Serving

I heard on the radio this morning that Michel Martelly, president of Haiti, has made today, January 12, the second anniversary of the earthquake, a holiday.

Also today, my husband John is making his way from Les Cayes to Pestel, a remote town on the north coast of Haiti's southern peninsula. Cholera is hitting the Pestel area hard, including in the difficult to reach mountains surrounding the town. A recent report stated that 55 people have recently died of cholera in this area and that there may be more than 300 cases. Because of the difficulties of data collection in Haiti, the numbers are probably underreported.

John will work with cholera patients. He is also going to gather information for public health officials working in the U.S. and Haiti who are trying to limit the deadliness of the cholera epidemic.

Perhaps the best way to commemorate the lives of those who died in the earthquake is to try to help save the lives of those who are suffering from this new disaster.

Pictured above, John working at a Cholera Treatment Center in 2011.

Thankful

Above is my rugged husband John, who is spending Thanksgiving in Robillard, a small town in northern Haiti, not far from the country's second largest city, Cap Haitian. He is working at a Cholera Treatment Center and clinic run by the parish of Father Andre Sylvestre. Father Andre put out a plea for help earlier in the month, as the many people with cholera who were coming to his clinic were overwhelming his small staff of one doctor and two nurses. John responded to this call and flew to Haiti six days ago.

Thankfully, the cholera cases have at least temporarily decreased. However, there is still plenty of medical work to keep John busy, including a man with terrible machete wounds on his hands and a 90-year-old man with cholera. I know John is grateful to be able to practice medicine in Haiti and that the people he is serving are grateful to have him among them.

I am thankful for so many blessings. I will list a few of them here.

1. That I am married to such a wonderful, generous man whose life work is caring for those who have so little.

2. The sound of our son Luke singing in the morning as he dresses for the day.

3. Having two such great families--the Kings and the Carrolls--to celebrate Thanksgiving and life with.

4. Our parish, St. Mark, a beacon of love on the hilltop.

5. Being born in a time, place, situation, and family that allows me to however imperfectly contribute to God's plan.

Really, the things I am thankful for are infinite, like God Himself. I hope that wherever you find yourself, you have a gratitude-filled Thanksgiving.

Nowhere To Go

I've been with my husband, Dr. John Carroll, as he's worked in different settings in Haiti: temporary clinics, hospitals, permanent clinics, whatever room we might be staying in. One of the consistent frustrations for John is that after he's helped a patient as much as he can, he often doesn't have a place to refer them to get more care. A patient might need a blood test, an x-ray, or to be admitted to the hospital. Frequently, there are no good options for the patient. Either there is no place close that can help them or they don't have the money to pay for care. John takes his time with patients and does everything he can for them. But the hardest thing about practicing medicine in Haiti for him, is when these patients leave him and he knows they need more medical care.

I got a small taste of this frustration when I worked at discharge planning at the Navy clinic. Many of the patients we saw would have qualified for one of the USNS Comfort's surgical slots if there were any left. In particular, there was one woman who had female problems such that she was bleeding. She was wearing a print sundress and carrying around a large, cotton-lined pad that she would sit on. At the discharge planning table, she was referred to a gynecological clinic. But she told us that she had no money to pay for this care. She said, "Can't they at least give me something for the pain?" I had some ibuprofen in my backpack, and I gave her several of them.

It felt like a very weak response.

Above is a view of the USNS Comfort from Cite Soleil.

Labor Day in Haiti

If jobs and employment are a big deal now in the United States, in Haiti, with an 80 percent unemployment rate, they are always a big deal.

Of course, it's not as if Haitians aren't working. Like the woman pictured above, the Haitians have plenty of work they do to survive--haul water, scrounge food, clean clothes. But there aren't enough paying jobs. so the majority of Haitians limp along--or not--trying to make it through another day.

Views from Delmas 5

While we were in Port-au-Prince, we stayed at the home of Vanessa Carpenter (AKA Mama V), who lives on Delmas 5. Vanessa runs the organization Angel Missions Haiti, which, much like Haitian Hearts, provides medical care to children in Haiti and also brings children to the States for surgery. They are also getting ready to open a school.

Vanessa was instrumental in helping coordinate the Navy's efforts in Haiti. She found most of the translators and also recruited others to help. We are grateful to her for asking us to be a part of the mission and for her hospitality to us.

At the beginning and end of each day, I would usually go up on Vanessa's roof, which had an amazing view of Port-au-Prince. All of the glories and agonies of Haiti were spread out before us: the mountains in the distance, the beautiful skies and ocean, tent cities and other little collections of shanties, kids playing soccer and kids singing, Hayti Tractor, the Caterpillar dealer, bustling tap taps. I would walk the roof and contemplate the day, suspended above the city.

Mildrede, one of the Haitian translators, and me on the roof.

The Price of Peace

The amount of logistics it took to set up the Navy clinic was mindboggling.

The Navy had to find a site--actually two sites, one for the surgical-screening clinic and one for the medical clinic. This second site needed to be leveled, and then they laid down a bunch of rocks so the area wouldn't be so prone to muddiness. They set up dozens of tents, and some of them, like the dental tent, needed a power source. Then there was all the equipment, food, medicine, and supplies that needed to be brought in on smaller boats from the USNS Comfort. Communication between the First World environment of the ship and the Third World environment of Haiti was also tricky. And then, of course, the possibility that Hurricane Irene would strike Haiti threw a huge wrench into the proceedings. Everything had to be taken down, and the ship left for a couple days. When it returned, everything had to be set up again. To accomplish all of this, the Navy used its own people and also contracted with others.

Observing some of this arduous preparation, I commented to a soldier (the Army and the Air Force were involved too), "Now, I have some idea of what it's like to go to war."

The soldier shook his head and said, "This is harder than going to war."

I was amazed when I heard this but upon reflection, it made sense. The military's typical mission is fighting wars. It's what they are used to. In this case, the Navy was having to work with all of these NGO's and to a lesser extent, the Haitian government to implement this mission. They didn't have the control of their environment that they are used to. But all of this collaboration was the point: the mission was classified as a training mission, in which the Navy would learn to successfully work with a number of different organizations, as frustrating and difficult as that can be.

My first reaction to his statement, however, was a swirl of thoughts and quotes: the constructive process is a lot harder and takes longer than the destructive process; what we need is a moral equivalent of war; it's easier to run an authoritarian organization than a democratic one; if you want peace, work for justice.

And yes, justice is hard and expensive, but really only in the short run. When people are treated fairly, when they have enough food to eat, clean water, adequate shelter, medical care, education, safety--all the things we need for life--war isn't as great a possibility. To achieve this state of justice takes a lot of messy, time-consuming work.

But it's worth it, don't you think?

Haitians Not in Haiti

At least half of the translators who worked with the Navy during the past couple of weeks were junior high and high school students from two schools in Port-au-Prince. where the students are taught in English. Most of these kids are essentially bilingual, being fluent in English and Creole.

I had the opportunity to talk with one young woman, an eighth grader, whom I'll call Jocelyn.

Jocelyn spent her 6th and 7th grade years in Brooklyn with her grandmother, attending school. She returned to Haiti for her 8th grade year and lives with her parents, who both work in Haiti. Jocelyn is an American citizen; her English is actually better than her Creole. Jocelyn said to me,

"The media is always showing only the bad parts of Haiti. They never show the nice places in Haiti, like where I live. People think there are only poor areas in Haiti."

I have heard this criticism of Haiti news coverage before, though usually from people older than Jocelyn. I can't completely disagree with it; most of the coverage of Haiti focuses on the poor. On the other hand, poor people do make up the huge majority of the population.

On this trip, our 22-year-old nephew Tommy accompanied us. This was his first trip to Haiti. After we worked in Cite Soleil and toured other slums, for balance, I wanted Tommy to see a more prosperous part of Haiti. On one evening, we went to Petionville, a Port-au-Prince suburb, and had dinner with some upper-middle class friends of ours. On the way to their lovely home, we stopped at the Haitian bakery, Epi D'Or. Inside the modern building, Haitians ordered sandwiches, ice cream, or had a meal at the cafeteria. "These are all middle-class Haitians," our friend told us.

Back to Jocelyn: I asked her if she was going to attend high school in Haiti. Her answer was instructive: "Oh no. I want to attend high school in the United States."

So despite the good parts of Haiti that are overlooked by the media, Jocelyn wants to go to high school in the United States. I can't say I blame her. But I do see that she is already exhibiting a behavior pattern that is disturbing: she will defend and praise Haiti from afar.

The thing is, Haiti doesn't need her praise or the praise of other people from the diaspora. It needs their brains, their ambitions, their talents.

Haiti needs their presence.

Discharge Planning?

Today is the last day of the USNS Comfort's presence in Haiti. The ship will now sail home after five months conducting its training mission in nine countries. Besides helping people who needed medical care, the Navy's other goal was to improve its ability to work with governments and NGO's to coordinate health care. I am sure everyone learned a lot.

My last day working at the Navy's clinic was on Thursday. After the translators had checked in and were working, I was assigned to Discharge Planning. This unit referred patients who needed follow up care to providers in Port-au-Prince. The NGO's in Haiti had helped compile a small list of places patients could go to get help. Or, I should say, attempt to get help.

As an American nurse who was helping translate and refer put it, "This is depressing."

For one, many of the patients we saw clearly needed surgery. They had hernias, huge facial tumors, bone fractures that hadn't healed properly, terrible burn scarring, breast cancer that had broken through the skin wall, gynecological problems, eye tumors. These are people who would have been eligible for a surgical slot on the ship but with only 120 places, they filled up quickly.

Secondly, almost all of the patients we saw didn't have money to pay for follow up medical care, surgical or otherwise; that's why they came to the Navy clinic to begin with. I doubt many--any?--of them received any follow up care.

On the plus side, most of these patients left with some medications. I was also surprised at how many of the patients were able to write their phone numbers. We were collecting these in case a a NGO was able find the patient a place for surgery.

I am very happy for the patients who were able to be operated on or receive medical care on the ship. They are the big beneficiaries of the Navy's good work.

Soleil Clowns

Believe it or not, an organization called Clowns Without Borders exists. Two professional clowns live a couple houses down from us, and they told us about the group.

I'm not sure how I feel about this. On the one hand, children need to laugh and play. On the other hand, I've seen children in Haiti who were too sick or weak to do either. I think I'm too wedded to Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs as an explanatory philosophy to believe that the poor children of Haiti can benefit from clowns. It reminds me of my working-in-child-welfare-days when we used to mount these drives for Christmas presents for foster children. Yes, Christmas presents are nice, but they were not what these children really needed.

When John was working in Cite Soleil a few days ago, he stopped by Catherine Laboure Hospital to see how the patients he referred were doing. He said a few clowns were there and that it was kind of pathetic and bizarre. I know I find the idea absurd. But then Haiti is an absurd place.

One Life

There is a saying—“One death is a tragedy, but a million deaths is a statistic,”—that is depressingly true from a PR point of view. Once when I was teaching English 110 at a community college, I talked some about Haiti, including the depressing maternal and infant mortality rates, the low life expectancy, etc. I got empty stares from my class.

But then a couple of days later, I talked about a sick child whom John was working with in Haiti. The class was spellbound as I described Mariella’s struggle for life against the ravages of malnutrition and diarrhea. “What can we do?” they asked.

Some of my recent blog posts seem a little vague to me, so I thought I’d focus on a particular child, Fernandez, pictured above. I had the opportunity to spend some time with Fernandez at the Sisters' malnutrition program in Cite Soleil. The Sisters are concerned about Fernandez because he is three years old and only weighs 18 pounds. Sometimes he is interested in eating, and sometimes he isn't. Although Fernandez has recently had a clear chest x-ray, many members of his family have tuberculosis, including his twin younger siblings and his grandmother.

For the most part, Fernandez's affect is flat. But he allowed me to pick him up and we walked around for a little while. He's kind of like carrying a small sack of potatoes; he's dead weight with no muscle tone, due to lack of protein. When I picked him up, there was no catch under his arms, of the muscle tensing, as he isn't strong enough.

But the good news, is that when I pulled a cheese and cracker out of my backpack, he ate it. And then another one. And then another one! I put him down and we walked around for awhile, until he spotted his mother and wanted to be with her.

The next day, I saw Fernandez scooting around on a small tricycle. He smiled and waved at me. A little while later, he came over and I picked him up. We walked around some more, and then I noticed Fernandez's head starting to bob, and conk, he was out. I sat down in the courtyard, and he napped on my lap until his mom came to retrieve him.

So though Fernandez is poor, with its frequent health problems, and lives in Cite Soleil, he has a couple of things going for him: he is enrolled in the Sisters' malnutrition program, and he has a mom who really loves him.

Return of the USNS Comfort and the Attack of the Killer Mosquitoes

I’m happy to report that with the threat of Hurricane Irene gone from these parts, the USNS Comfort is back in the bay of Port-au-Prince. We saw it at 5:30 this morning from the roof of our house on Delmas 5. The plan is that today they will resume surgeries on the ship, and tomorrow the onshore clinic will begin again. They didn’t need doctors at the clinic today, so John headed back to Cite Soleil, to work at the Sisters’ clinic.

So this morning, my nephew Tommy, some other volunteers, and I rode a tap tap (not quite as crowded as the one pictured above), the battered pick up trucks that serve as Haiti’s public transportation, up Delmas to retrieve another member of our crew. We would then head to the clinic site to see if they needed any help setting up.

Delmas is a one of the main thoroughfares through Port-au-Prince, leading up to Petionville, a more prosperous suburb. I pointed out different landmarks to Tommy. There is what’s left of One Stop, where we used to buy groceries (some of the Delmas area was hit hard by the earthquake); there’s Alta Grace, where we occasionally went to church. There’s the road that leads to Luke’s orphanage.

When we reached Delmas 91, we turned down a very steep hill, rutted with large holes and rocks. We bounced down it carefully, if, indeed one can bounce carefully; it’s all fun and games until the breaks go out.

After we picked up Jenny, we headed back down Delmas, bound for Terminal Varreux.
The ocean was in the distance, blending with the sky, making it impossible to tell where one stopped and the other began. As we got closer, we saw the USNS Comfort; the all-white ship with the red crosses appeared to be suspended in the sky, sent down from heaven.

At Terminal Varreux, a small group of patients were waiting. We made our way through the newly created mud from last night’s rain, heading toward the dock, where the translators and patients would board a small boat to take them to the ship.

I rubbed my hand, and then noticed I had some black mud on it. How did that get there? Then I saw what I thought was a fly on my arm. I attempted to brush it away, but it didn’t go. I looked more closely at my hand, and saw that it was no mud; it was a squashed mosquito. I looked around at others and saw the huge bugs alighting on any patch of bare skin. I mean these suckers were ginormous! They were getting tangled in Tommy’s leg hair, so I sprayed him down quick with my mosquito repellent. For the next several minutes, we were consumed with repelling the hoardes through spray and slapping. This sounds exaggerated, but it was bad.

In my experience, Haiti mosquitoes are small, silent, and stealthily, less obvious even than the type we have in the States. These mosquitoes were not going to be put off by a mere brush away. They had to be smacked. These were like the Special Forces mosquitoes; they weren’t going to be leaving your skin until they had some of your blood. As our friend Kristin said, “This is like inviting malaria.”

Fortunately after only a few minutes of this onslaught, we were able to take refuge in one of the military’s SUV’s. Since our presence wasn’t required at Terminal Varreux—as much set up had been done as possible—we rode back to Delmas 5. We will see what tomorrow brings.

Different World, Different Risks

A recent New York Times op-ed listed some of the health risks and threats to children today. They include obesity, due in part to the marketing of junk food, exposure to violent and sexually explicit electronic media content, thanks to little regulation, the increasing number of children who are medicated with psychotropic drugs, again facilitated by little regulation. These are all real risks, and the writer ties them to the rise of the corporation, a legally defined person, whose goals (profit) are at times in conflict with the best interest of other legal persons, like children.

Now, you probably know where this post is going. The risks that the writer details only apply to a certain small (relatively speaking) group of children: those from the developed world.

For our friend, above, from Wharf Jermie, a slum in Haiti, and billions like him, these risks don't threaten him, but a host of others do, some of which you can see in the picture. Dirty water carries all kinds of deadly diseases--typhoid fever, cholera, diarrhea. Malnutrition leads to stunted growth and development and sometimes death. Lack of health care, schooling, safe housing, a safe environment all pose huge risks to children, as do the lack of competent child welfare or criminal justice systems. There is a lot of child abuse in the developing world.

The children of Haiti don't have to worry about obesity, violent video games, or psychotropic drugs.

On the plus side, they are forced to exercise their creativity. This boy and his friends were having a lot of fun with their car, made from a plastic bottle and lids.